Her Unmistakable Identity
by Iodine Wolf
Summary: She could never dream a sweet dream, and she never will.


She awoke in a sulk, from the experiences the prior day, effecting her every move. With her back to the floor, sweat dripped down the side of her face; cold sweat. Her nightmare's seeming like the reality that was her life. Her make believe world that recurred every night, sleeping from midnight until a startled awakening 4 to 6 hours later. The insomnia killing her, with the only help coming from a bottle of vodka she kept on her nightstand. Of course, she hated the taste, but she just wanted to get to sleep, and this vodka seemed to be the only help. From any other alcohol or prescription designated to her, or bought, this vodka, the Violet Velvet vodka, bought at the local spirits shop, was the only thing that helped.

Her panting slowed, and she grabbed the window sill directly above her head. Using the window as a support she helped herself off of her aching back, and looked out the window. It was barely into the morning, and it looked as if it had rained the night before, but the thick fog was blocking the view of the ground. She could not see any further than the tree in front of her window, and that was only about 6 feet away.

Her name shall not be stated, so we'll just call her Jane. Now, Jane was a slightly overweight blonde, with a perm that made her look like Nancy Wilson from Heart. She was a very picky person, but had a nice sense of humor nontheless. Ever since her 24th birthday, after the incident, the murder of her mother and father, one year ago, she had not spoken a single word to anyone outside her home. People called her crazy, people called her disturbed...in one sense, they were correct.

She was contemplating whether or not she'd like to look at the clock. Finally, she decided to look, knowing that her sleep time would be no more than six hours. The clock blank red numbers, reading the digits 12:00. That obviously meant the rain had knocked the power out the night before, so she decided she would walk downstairs and check the battery powered clock hanging on the kitchen walls.

Jane bent down and picked up the blanket that had fallen with her to the floor, and placed it in a lump on her bed. She then preseded to walk to the door. Across the dusty, sultry room, was a yellow wooden door. The door was originally brown, but picked up an ugly yellow stained look over the years, from Jane's uncontrolable smoking habits. She was a pack-a-day smoker.

Finally, she managed to stumble somberly to the door, and turn the knob, realizing that she had forgotten to unlock it. So she reached into the dresser conveniently located next to the door, and took our her spare key, placing it in the lock, twisting, and gently placing back into the drawer. She was to tired to close the drawer, so she told herself to do it later.

Once out the door, she took a left and walked down the crooked, narrow halway of the old house, reaching the stairwell. Jane looked down the stairwell and noticed the the front door at the bottom was left wide open, with wet boot prints dragging across the carpet.

She recognized the boots, belonging to her father, that we're going to call Jeff. Now, her father often did this, but was usually never there when she awoke. The door was never left wide open, and Jane was contemplating what had happened, imagining the worst. She jogged down the stairs in a tired gaze, almost falling a few times. She would have screamed, for her father, but was so used to silence that she did not have the ability to. Jane was recalling the event last year, 14 months ago when her mother and father were murdered. Her father. Jane knew it was her father in the house when she had reached the bottom of the stairs, because he was laying in a heep on the floor, in a yellow raincoat, unconscious. She knelt down next to him and checked for a pulse. He seemed fine, so she closed the door, and preceded to check the time. It was 7:36 AM, making it 7 hours of sleep, longer than she thought.

Jane sat down and picked up the mug she had left on the table the night before. It had built up grime at the bottom, and looked like a very hazy chocolate syrup, announcing that the coffee had settled. She got up again, knocking her knee on the table, but not minding the excrutiating pain. She tossed the mug in the sink, shattering as it hit the steel.

"Jane!!!" she heard from the foyer. It was her father's voice. Jane ran out into the foyer, but her father was still laying unconscious on the floor. "JANE!!!!! ANSWER ME!!!!!!: Alas, she could not answer. She wanted to, but her lips would not open.

Then, on her side, she saw the mirror, containing an image of her father, walking forward toward her. He was in the spot, where the uncoinscious body lie behind her, but was making no effort to look asleep.

The mirror shattered, and she awoke, on a cot in the corner of her blank orange room. On one wall was a mirror, and on the other, a door. She was in a blue gown, and the tag on her arm read the number, "145." She stood up and ran to the door, screaming, and slamming her fists into the glass.

Then, the tall man in his baby blue jacket, ran through the door and had her pinned in no time. He took out his needle, and placed in her arm, pushing down on the top.

She slowly dazed off into a dreamless sleep, dreaming of nothing, dreaming of everything.


End file.
